2013.06.02 - Mind The Mindless One
Dusk. For New Yorkers today was a day that could and should be considered 'summer' versus spring. It was -warm-, nearing a hundred and as night has descended the temperature hasn't cooled much in the least - it's still in the eighties Fahrenheit, a precursor to what could possibly be a terrible summer of scorching days and steaming nights. The current location? Greenwich Village, or just 'The Village'. On this balmy evening a small theater has just let out, not one of those fancy joints that show the recent hits and blockbusters, but a small, family run business that stays /in/ business showing all the oldies of the past. It isn't anything to see the big board out front advertising a black and white Bogart and Bacall. A tall, slim figure emerges from the theater, her voice a soft tone of lilting, quiet almost shy quality as she waves back to one of the attendants of the theater. "Good night!" Who promptly calls back out, a rare form of friendly greeting in an otherwise hostile town. Within the tall red-head's arms is a half-eaten bucket of popcorn, that the girl continues to idly much upon, as she moves slowly down the sidewalk, taking her time to enjoy the fresh air, the sights of The Village, and the relief from the heat that will be nearly suffocating in her small room. Her name..? Caitlin Fairchild. Her destination? Back to the University. Her woes? Just beginning. Within the darkness itself, danger always seems to just -lurk-. Whether it's in the form of hoodlums that seek money and items of value, or other darker, mysterious and deadly creatures of other worldly dimensions, danger just seems to have a way of finding people; whether they want it or not. A loud, piercing, horrible scream echoes from a side alley not far from where Caitlin is slowly walking, the scream is swift, loud, horrified and then silences into a quiet, horrific, still note - as though cut off before the full force of the scream can emit. There are many small, neighbor-hood style businesses that populate this area - from delicatessens that have been owned by the same family for generations, to new-age shops run by enterprising young hipsters - and long-time residents of the Village are familiar with most of them. Still, even those that call Greenwich Village home have their favorites, and such is also the case with Stephen Strange, who - for tonight, at least - is attempting to enjoy one of those favorite establishments in a rare evening of quiet and respite. That establishment is the very same movie theater from which a handful of other patrons are exiting, though Stephen is taking his time as he's one of the last to leave. From the polite smiles and nods that he gives the regular attendants there, it's clear that he's a regular visitor, though perhaps one that might not often make small talk, and he's dressed at the moment in a light-weight turtleneck and slacks. The friendly wave and cheerful greeting that one of the other movie-goers extends to the theater employees brings a pleasant smile to Stephen's features, his attention caught by the gesture. Even here in the Village, too many people are only concerned with where they're going next and don't seem to care too much about interacting with the people they might meet along the way. Stephen himself has been guilty of that himself more often than he'd care to admit - but it's nice to see that isn't the case with everyone. True congeniality's a rare sight in New York, anymore. His smile broadens as he thinks about it, and how the exchange brought an equally cheerful response from the attendant. Would it be so difficult for more people to extend that sort of kindness to others? Ah, what a different place the world would be, he ponders - but those meandering thoughts are brought to a sharp and sudden halt with the unexpected and blood-curdling scream that rings out from the ally nearby. "By the Omnipotent Oshtur," Strange utters under his breath, "That scream...! There is something much fouler afoot than mere hoodlums..." The air seems to crackle about him, and he instinctively knows - there are indeed dark magics at play within the shadow recesses of that side street. His steely grey eyes flash towards the darkened alleyway, noting the tall red-head who's walking nearby there and scanning for any other innocents that may be in the sphere of danger as he begins to quicken his pace. A few scattered movie-goers yet, other pedestrians making their way to and from errands and home - but none as close as himself, or the tall young woman nearby. He quickens his pace as he moves towards her, and the ally, a sense of urgent purpose to his long strides. One hand reaches out as he does so, forefinger and little finger splayed to either side as his arm sweeps in a wide gesture. Even as he speaks, a bright beam of sun-like illumination cascades forth from his hand, piercing into the shadows of the ally. "By the Light of Luxoria, banish this darkness and reveal what hides beneath!" It is the sound of the scream that sends shivers down Caitlin's spine; as though death itself had been seen and greeted with alarming results. The few that are still present and about at this time of night begin to dash away from the scream, some pulling out cell phones only to shake them violently unable to get a signal out - as the street lamps begin to flicker and with as swift of a sound as the scream itself - everything suddenly turns into darkness. An inky. Horrific. Black Out. Caitlin had tossed the tub of popcorn into a nearby reciprocal the instant before the lights went out, (no use in feeding the vermin in the area any more than they already are after all), and now with the sickening darkness descending and only the illumination of the stars and moon above given - her eyes scan the shadows from where the sound emerged. She should, really, just turn around and run, but Caitlin? She is a hero at heart instead of running away from the darkness and the sounds of terror, she dashes forward towards the mouth of the alley itself. Her eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and just when she thinks she can see a horrific, looming, bulking figure begin to stumble towards her there's a brilliant glow of light that just bursts to life with mystical clarity. From darkness to bright light, Caitlin's hand react on instinct, rising upwards to cover her face - and by doing so does not see the huge beefy fist that slams towards the red-head's jaw. The impact is instantaneous, a powerful blow that sends Caitlin careening through the air, her body flying backwards and landing with a *crunch* on top of a dumpster. The bright light illuminates a hulking monster from another dimension - a single Mindless One. As he himself is rushing towards the alleyway, Strange doesn't quite expect that anyone else will have the same idea - after all, even in New York, most bystanders will seek safety in situations such as this, or at worst stay to watch and gawk at whatever sort of grim scenario might be playing out. But to wantonly rush /towards/ the sounds of danger? No, that's not a strategy that he may have anticipated from the leggy red-head, and her actions nearly cause him to miss as well the source of evil that's actually lurking there in wait for them. "Wait!" he starts to call out to her - but the warning comes too late. Strange is only able to watch haplessly as the girl is sent hurtling backwards, impacting the dumpster with such force that the metal bin crumples underneath her. With the shaft of light still issuing forth from his hand, Dr. Strange glances quickly from the form of the girl to the thing that sent her flying - a brutish, blob of a monster, a shambling mass of malice and muscle that is only too recognizable. "By the Hoary Hosts of Haggoth...!" Stephen's jaw sets and his eyes narrow at the sight of the thing - he isn't certain precisely what he thought he might find, but he's certain that a Mindless One would not have been near the top of the list. The creature hails from the Dread Dimension, and its presence here on Earth is an omen of ill fortune. Perhaps a would-be warlock of the dark arts has divined a way to breach the barriers between dimensions to summon the creatures for his own bidding - or worse, this single creature could be but a herald of legions more to come - an advance scout sent by the dread master Dormammu himself! "The Crimson Bands of Cytorrak will bind you tight," he declares, his other hand snapping forward as bright red bands begin to form in the air around the creature, their singular purpose to ensnare and imprison the thing. "And give me time to offer your victim some respite!" He scans the the immediate area then, making certain that no other innocents are present - or more Mindless Ones for that matter - before moving hastily towards the dumpster, and the tall red-head that's been tossed there. Such a punch from a Mindless One is enough to give the likes of Spider-Man or the Thing pause - against someone without any protection or powers at all it could very well be lethal! If she still lives, Stephen knows that he has the ability to heal her. But if not... there is only so much that even the Sorcerer Supreme can manage. His grey eyes are fraught with concern as he approaches her, hoping he's not too late... Within the alley itself, where the bright light from the Sorcerer Supreme's mystical illumination broke through the darkness a lone figure lies crumpled upon the ground. The man's hands hold a dark tome that he still clutches to his dead fingers, the mystical portal that he opened accidently - or on purpose - has long sense closed, no other creatures have emerged save the one, hulking menace that only knows death and destruction. It begins to struggle within the magical bands that hold it tight, straining with the energy that the Doctor has placed upon him. The hulking behemoth will not hold still long - nor will it allow itself to remain bound for long. Across the street where the red-head landed, only a pair of boots can initially be seen, boots connected to mile-long legs that were clothed in a fashionable pair of Daisy Dukes. As Stephen makes his way there, a low, annoyed groan echoes from the dumpster, as fingers emerge on each side of the torn metal. A soft, quiet, ever so disgusted sound echoes from the form those fingers are attached to. "Oh.. /gross/..." A few seconds later, and the legs wriggle, the metal bends, and the red-head slowly stands upwards, fingers idly picking off items of uncertain origins from her skin. Caitlin /seems/ fair enough, all things considered. Oh sure. Her entire body is covered in grime and garbage and gunk that shouldn't be described. Her muscles are large and impressive and her clothing has been ripped to shreds leaving just the most important areas respectably covered... at least barely so. Her body is bulking with muscles, massive powerful body-building sinew that was -not- as impressive or on display but a few minutes ago. Soft, ever so worried green gems lift upwards as the dark haired man approaches, emerald eyes that take in the man and then look past to the hulking behemoth. "S..stand behind me sir." She doesn't /quite/ realize that the monster isn't moving forward and is currently bound -by- the same dark haired man. Perhaps he did need to have been so worried - for as Dr. Strange nears the dumpster and the tall, leggy red-head that was pummeled within, he finds not a broken and bruised individual as one might expect after receiving a blow from the fist of a Mindless One, but instead sees that the girl is much, more more than she may have seemed! The sight of her (quite a bit of her, actually!) causes the mystic master to pause a moment, giving the young woman time to pry herself out of the crumpled container and the refuse within. He's about to speak, when her slightly unsteady voice beats him to it, her selfless offer bringing an amused smile to play about the man's mustachioed lips. "I appreciate the gesture, miss," he answers her, eyes twinkling ever-so-slightly, "But as well as you've seemed to weather the Mindless One's first attack, I don't think it'd be a good idea to give it another shot at you." He turns back to face the struggling creature, leveling his gaze upon the other-dimensional monster from across the alleyway. "I summon the powers of the Vishanti!" he intones, his voice growing in volume as he speaks. "By the spell of the Dread Dormammu, in the name of the All-Seeing Agamotto -- all thy powers I summon --- begone, Forces of Darkness!" By the time that he's completed the invocation, Dr. Strange's words are ringing across the alleyway and down the street, and he flings his hand towards the Mindless One, a bright pulse purple and black energy lancing forward to swirl about the creature in a rapid, cone-like arc. A sound like the crashing ocean accompanies the display, before the light and energy seems to fold in on itself, and the Mindless One, and in an instant, both are gone - the creature banished back to the Dread Dimension from whence it came. Strange pauses a moment, then, as if making certain that the creature, or another like it, does not reappear, his eyebrows creasing slightly as he notices the dead form of the would-be summoner, crumpled on the ground. "Someone dabbling in powers best left alone," he murmurs. He seems ready to cross over towards the figure, and the tome he clutches, before he returns his attention to Caitlin. The friendly smile returns to his lips as he does so, the seriousness of moment taking a brief respite. "I'm glad you weren't hurt - though your clothes haven't fared nearly as well. Something, fortunately, we can fix easily enough." He makes a brief flick of his fingers, and a large, oversized trench-coat forms out of thin air, draped across the heroine's shoulders to offer her some modicum of modesty. The garment is tan in color, and even light-weight enough to allow for the balmy weather. "It's a pleasure to meet you, by the way. My name is Dr. Stephen Strange." A fairly confused expression crosses the red-head's face at Dr. Strange's words, though it wouldn't exactly be her first choice to go toe to toe with the hulking monster again, what else -could- she do? If it could hit /her/ to such a degree, goodness knows what it would do to anyone less sturdy! /About/ to argue the point, when the dark haired man begins to speak and a powerful, purple hued energy erupts to life and when everything clears, the monster has long since been vanquished from this realm. A fairly breathless, 'wow', is Caitlin's response, one hand lifting upwards to brush a strand of unruly red hair from her face, only to come back with some grime that she quickly shakes loose with a swift motion and expression of disgust. From shock and awe, disgust and repulsion, to a quiet smile again, Caitlin's only too happy to receive the trench-coat, her arms fitting swiftly through the sleeves to wrap it about her much slimmer form now, belt tied tightly around her waist, leaving her much more respectably adorned. "Oh..thank you." A flush enters into her cheeks, a momentary reddening before it fades just as fast when the Sorcerer Supreme offers introductions. Though Caitlin has heard of Dr. Strange, a master of the occult - she always assumed he was, like most magicians, a charlatan, this fact has her stuttering just a bit in response, hand extending outwards, "It's an honor to meet you, Dr. Strange." She begins, only to note her hand is still covered in something that looks like mud, hopefully it's mud. With a swift gesture, her fingers are wiped upon the cloth of the trench, a muttered out, "Sorry about that Doctor. I'm.. Caitlin. Caitlin Fairchild. What.. what -was- that thing?" Noting the grime and slime and... well, whatever else it is that's still clinging about Caitlin, Stephen chides himself and lifts a hand again, waving it in a slow motion before the woman, fingers splayed outwards. "The apologies are mine. Winds of Watoomb, Mists of Moortan, I call you forth now to clean this lovely young woman!" A brisk but gentle breeze picks up then, accompanied by an almost steamy mist that cascades over the woman - enough to cause the trenchcoat to flit and flutter about her form - and then as suddenly as it came, the wind and the fog are gone, but so too is the muck and the garbage that had come from the trash in the dumpster. "You may still want to take a proper shower later, but you at least won't have to deal with orange peel remnants. And please, call me Stephen." He takes her hand gently within his then, and if allowed, will raise it upwards to place his lips across the backs of her knuckles. The expression on his face is warm and pleasant with the words and the gesture, his grey eyes twinkling once more as he continues to smile at the red-head. When she asks about the nature of the creature that attacked her, however, his facial features again turn darker and more serious. "That, Miss Fairchild," he answers her, taking a step towards the battered and broken form of the man in the alley. "Was a Mindless One. A denizen of the Dread Dimension with no purpose other than to serve evil and those of evil intent." He crouches down to examine the corpse then, and the tome that is still clutched with those lifeless fingers, his own hand reaching out to drift overtop the text a moment, inches away. "They possess no true will of their own, though they typically do require a strong hand to control them. Stronger than this misguided soul's." Determining it to be safe, then, he takes hold of the tome that the summoner had used, picking it up before standing upright again. "There are some, however, whose lust for power outweighs their good judgment...." He focuses on the tome another moment then, before tucking it under one arm and returning his attention to Caitlin, drawing his mood back to a less ominous tone as he crosses back to her. "Fortunately, it seems that this was an isolated incident - typically the Mindless Ones are summoned in much larger numbers. Though the origins of this tome and how it came into that man's possession will bear investigating. It seems fortuitous for the residents of the Village that we were here at this moment - even a single Mindless One can cause tremendous damage. As you now know," he acknowledges Caitlin's impact with the dumpster and the state of her clothing afterwards with a nod. "Do you live nearby?" Sorcerers. Mysticism. Creatures from other dimensions. And magical showers! It's all a bit much for Caitlin to fathom at the current moment, so one will have to excuse the slack jawed expression on her face at the spell, the gust of wind and the feeling of not being quite as grimy as before. When her hand is lifted upwards and the softest of brushes given across her knuckles, Caitlin's speechlessness continues to the point where she's unsure if she should curtsy, thank the sorcerer - or run away screaming bloody murder. Still, it /is/ nice to note that the Sorcerer Supreme is almost her height - minus an inch or two, leaving her to be able to offer a soft, eye to eye statement of gratitude. "Thank you, again. Doctor." She intones quietly, her emerald eyes shifting down in an almost shy expression, fingers tucking into the folds of the trench-coat's pockets. "I'm very thankful that you were around to send it.. that.. thing back to where it belongs!" The tome holds no mystical enchantments upon its pages - though how such a man got hold of it, and what plans the original owner /of/ the tome had with it.. remains a mystery, for now. At the question of if Caitlin lives near by, her head bobs up and down, "Not too far, the University." She states, gesturing with a slight motion towards the location of the Campus, her gaze flickering back to Strange. Her upper teeth begin to maul upon her bottom lip before she offers a soft. "I... can. I mean, if you'd like to follow me, I can give you back your coat..? After I get to my room.." Which doesn't sound right, so Caitlin tries again. "I mean, I.. ahm." And the flush begins, and reddens considerably more, before Caitlin lets out a soft. "Oh. Gracious. I mean. I.. " And when her words fail her, and her cheeks betray her, Caitlin just rolls her eyes heaven word and tilts her head towards the Campus, beginning to walk with Dr. Strange towards her room, where she shall hand him her jacket, and then say good night. No more. No less. Category:Log